


Four Queens in a haunted house

by Toinette93



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Answer to a prompt, Brian May loves his red special, Fantasy, Gen, Haunted Houses, Is this a Crack-fic?, Not Beta Read, around 1972/1973, between eerie and funny (hopefully), but hopefully enjoyable nonetheless, how is that not a tag?, sci fi, this is wholly pointless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toinette93/pseuds/Toinette93
Summary: It should have been a dark and stormy night. But it wasn’t. See, the weather forecast is not the most reliable thing, especially on an island. It had announced a storm, but the storm had not come. And so the night was clear, and cold. At least there was a full moon, with some clouds creeping around it. Cause the moon, unlike the weather, is reliable even in England.---Driving through the night after a show, the Queen members get lost, and seek refuge in an abandonned house. Oddities and sheananigans happen.---This is an answer to a prompt from quirkysubject. Detail of the prompt in the notes.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear people,  
> So this is the answer to a prompt by the wonderful quirkysubject (go read her fics, they are great). With her permission I changed the prompt from Borhap Cast to original band, because I have no idea how to write the movie cast. Here ist the prompt :
> 
> BoRhap-Cast, haunted house gen-fic
> 
> The BoRhap Cast (can be all of them, but I definitely want Lucy, Rami and Joe) spend the night in a haunted house. Hi-jinks ensue. No splatter, please, should be rated teen or lower and funny rather than too scary. Whether the house is actually haunted or it' all just in their heads is up to you.
> 
> So, without further ado, to the fic. Hope you enjoy this trite little thing. And don't hesitate to comment.

It should have been a dark and stormy night. But it wasn’t. See, the weather forecast is not the most reliable thing in Britain, it being an island and everything. The forecast had announced a storm, but the storm had not come. And so the night was clear, and cold. At least there was a full moon, with some clouds creeping around it. Cause the moon, unlike the weather, is reliable even in England.

John Deacon was driving. He had been driving for a very long time. They should not have been far from the hotel they had booked for the night on their way back to London, but it was looking more and more unlikely they were on the right road and it was getting late. The petrol tank was also starting to look alarmingly empty. They were in the middle of the woods. England is quite densely populated, and yet, they had not seen any houses for a very long time. John hated to admit it, but they were probably lost. He was fairly sure there were not supposed to be any forests that large in England. The van was silent. Unusually so. It had been a pretty exhausting series of concert and a long drive. John was driving slowly, trying hard to stay awake. The road was windy and unlit, and there was only so much the old van’s lights could do.

To John’s left, Brian who was supposed to deal with the map had fallen asleep long since. There would be a mark from the safety belt on his neck when he’d wake up. There was a bump in the road that John did not see in time, and in the back, Roger got jostled awake, his head being ejected from Freddie’s lap in which it had fallen, and bumping into Brian’s seat. That woke the drummer who half grumbled half shouted a hearty “hey, watch out, Deacs” that woke up everyone else.

“Are we there yet?” asked Freddie.

“Obviously not” answered John, who had stopped the van, showing his bandmates the seemingly impenetrable forest they had apparently driven into.

“Why are we stopping then?” asked Roger while Brian asked

“Shouldn’t we be there?”

John sent a glare to the man who fell asleep while being supposed to look at the map, and was now criticizing him for not getting to their destination on time. He turned back to answer Freddie and Roger’s queries, that were marginally less obnoxious. What he saw through the back window made him quickly forget his annoyance. There wasn’t a road any more, only trees, with some mist for extra atmosphere added in the mix.

Brian who was scratching his neck with his hand, noticed first that John who had emphatically turned to answer Roger and Freddie was now completely silent. He put a hand on his shoulder.

“John?” he asked.

“The road.” said the bassist. “It’s gone.”

The monochord tone in which that was said got everyone’s attention. They all looked. And had to admit John was right. The road behind them had disappeared. When they turned forward again, the road had turned into a dirt path. Large enough for the van, but barely. They could not go much faster than they would have walked.

“Oh dear! This is positively frightening” commented Freddie, grabbing Roger’s arm in a grand gesture.

“Well we don’t really have anywhere do go but forward.” commented Brian.

“At least we can’t get more lost that way” grumbled John, not quite loud enough to be heard.

“Look, there’s a house!” cried Freddie pointing to the right, where the road seemed to be heading to after a curve.

“Is there?” asked, Roger dumbfounded. He could not see anything in the dark forest. He put his hands to his face to rub at his eyes. And found his glasses. Sunglasses. Oh. That explained it. He took the glasses out, still could not see a thing and decided to trust his bandmates on this one.

“Let’s go then.” said Freddie.

And John put the van in first gear and started the slow way to the house.


	2. Chapter 2

They soon arrived at the house. They got out of the van locking it behind them. Half without thinking, Brian grabbed his guitar from the back of the van. There was something weird about this place, if a road could disappear, so could a van, and he was not risking the Red Special. Freddie grabbed the magazine he had been reading earlier that day, knowing he could use it as a weapon in a pinch. John grabbed a flashlight. And Roger took water and food. The four men stopped at the door.

They had not been exactly quiet in their approach, and yet there had been no reaction from anyone in the house. It was not much of a house really. A small thing, made of wood, old and odd-looking, but well-kept. Having cast a questioning look at his bandmates, Freddie finally made his mind and knocked at the door. There was no answer. He started to wonder if, maybe, the house was abandoned. He knocked again, harder. He had no wish to spend the night outside in the van. No answer still. He was getting desperate. Then Roger pushed past him and just tried the door. It opened with a creaking sound. There also was a little “plop” coming from behind them. They turned towards the sound. They did not see anything. In fact they could not see a thing anymore. The small tendrils of mist that had been creeping on the van earlier had become a full fog, and had seemingly swallowed the whole world. They could not even see the van anymore, even if it was but thirty feet away, and the little house looked like an island. Brian held his guitar-case closer to his chest.

“Should we just… go in?” offered Roger.

“Wouldn’t that be trespassing though?” asked Brian, without really thinking

“Trespassing, really?” repeated Roger “We’re lost in a forest that shouldn’t even exist, the road has bloody disappeared, and you’re thinking about ownership laws! Really.”

Before Brian could answer and transform the whole thing into a full-blown argument, Freddie intervened.

“I don’t think trespassing is much of an issue if we’re just looking for shelter, dear. The question is more where will be safer to spend the night between here and in the van.”

“Yeah, probably in the house, you’re right. It’s too cold in the van.” admitted the guitarist.

“Yes it is freezing.” mentioned John, shuddering.

“All, right’ let’s get in then.” urged Freddie.

Roger, went in first, and they all followed, John closing the door behind them. The drummer could not find a light switch. John passed him the electric torch and they started moving.

“Anybody home?” asked Roger

“We’re not thieves or anything.” assured Freddie “We’re just lost, and the door was open.”

They walked through the entrance, that was scattered with shoes, some of which children size, and a beach balloon, and then through another unlocked door, and they were in the house main room. It really was a tiny house. As soon as they entered the room, they noticed that it was not quite as dark as the rest of the house. A cold blue light that was coming from some odd-looking moss on the ceiling was enveloping the room in its glow. The out-worldly light just did not seem to go with the rest of the boringly ordinary little house. The room had two windows, blinds shut. There was a sofa that was probably a bed-settee, two armchairs, a coffee table, some cupboards and at the back of the room an open alcove that held children-length bunk-beds. There were two doors on the right side of the room. A cursory check by Brian confirmed what they had assumed: it was a small kitchen and bathroom. There apparently was some independent source of water nearby. And there also was wood-burning stove in the corner, with a wood-stack next to it.

The house was quite clearly empty. No one was home. The four young men, standing in the middle of the room looked at each other wondering what to do. Roger slowly put down the bag of food on the coffee table.

“What are those…?” began Brian, not quite finishing his question.

John shivered. They all noticed how cold it was. It was barely warmer than outside. The wind seemed to have picked up and it was now howling. The promised storm had seemingly decided to finally show its face. That jostled them into action.

“All right. We need to get this stove started.” said Freddie, walking purposefully towards the heating mechanism. He must have been quite cold indeed to offer to do this kind of physical labour.

“I’ll help you.” said John and Freddie nodded.

“We’d better go check for supplies, I don’t know how long we’re going to have to stay here.” suggested Brian, and Roger just followed.

“Leave the doors open” advised John, and they agreed.

A few minutes later, the fire in the stove had started. Warmth was returning to the little house. At one point a piece of wood had almost fallen on John’s right foot, but had stopped right next to it. At the moment that it happened, Freddie could have sworn he’d heard a high-pitched voice saying something he could not quite understand. But when he had turned around, there was nothing, no-one. He had shaken his head and gone back to work. The atmosphere was just getting on his nerves.

Brian and Roger’s mission had been successful. They had found blankets, bed-linens, food – that they had left in the cupboards for now. Brian had found candles, right when he had been thinking how uneasy the cold lights coming from the ceiling made him. Alight, they now gave the room a far gentler glow. Roger, who had been feeling sweaty, had even found clean clothes that very much looked as if they had been made for the four of them, although they were a bit bland for their styles. Roger had thought that John would probably be happy about it. Both had heard weird high-pitched noises and had attributed them to the volume of the concert they just played. None of them had gone to the alcove.

Seated on the couch in front of the stove, eating the food Roger had brought from the van, bundled up in blankets, the four rockers were starting to relax. The glowing moss was still unnerving, but after a concert and hours on the road, they just did not have the energy to worry for long. And nothing bad had happened to them, really. Roger raised his head and said:

“If I weren’t that tired, I could almost enjoy playing here. No annoying neighbours to tell us to turn the sound down.” And while saying that, he started to feel a bit more energetic, and noticed that everyone else seemed to perk up as well.

“Yeah, but Brian’s the only one with an instrument here. And we do not need another of his guitar solos. Tonight’s was already ten minutes long.” grinned John.

Brian huffed in annoyance. But before he had time to say anything, there was this high-pitched noise again, animated this time, and John’s base and Roger’s drum-kit as well a small upright piano had appeared in the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Freddie screamed. Squealed John would have said, had he paid any attention. He was looking at the instruments with a stupefied gaze. They all were.

“What the fuck?” commented Roger.

That seemed to get everybody in agreement. For quite a while they kept looking at the instruments. Except for the piano, it was theirs, no doubt about that. Roger spent enough time tuning his drums to recognize them even at a distance. Brian had grabbed his guitar, the only that had not magically appeared and was keeping it well away from the others instruments, in case they were contagious or something. They heard that weird sound of high-pitched voice seemingly arguing in an unknown language, just loud enough to be – barely – perceptible. But nothing else happened. And after a few minutes spent staring at their very own instruments that despite their odd apparition looked the same as they always had they started feeling a bit silly. Brian who had no direct implication in the whole issue, spoke first.

“So, how these came here makes no sense, but shouldn’t we make sure they are solid, and not broken.”

That got a reaction in the rhythm section. They took the instruments in hands, checking them over. Freddie walked to the piano and tested it. It made a decent sound this old piano, wherever it had come from. Much better than a lot of out of tune monstrosities he’d had to play with over the year. When he got rich and famous he’d get a Steinway, several even. But for now this would do quite nicely.

So Roger sat down at his drum-kit and experimentally hit the cymbals. His drums sounded just fine, he thought. Slightly surprising after the concert and the time spent in the van but certainly less surprising than them appearing out of nowhere. He started a little rhythm, starting as a low rumble growing faster and then fading back out. He should have been tired, but the bone-deep exhaustion that he had felt in his muscles after the concert seemed to have disappeared. The other three were listening. Had any of them looked up when the drummer reached the apex of his crescendo, they would have noticed the moss on the ceiling glowing brighter and brighter, and then dimming again as the sound went down. The rumble completely stopped, and Roger turned to the others with a smile:

“Yeah, those are my drums alright. Sound good”.

Roger was about to put down his sticks and call it a night, but a whiff of wind ruffled his hair, distracting him for a moment, the moment John chose to start improvising a bass line. The bass player winked at the drummer, who started playing again, they were looking at each other, in concentration. Freddie started vocalizing something, going up and down, and up and down, Roger occasionally taking an octave higher to what Freddie was singing. Shaking his head, Brian finally caved, got his guitar out of its case, plugged it in, and gave a high pitched, highly distorted wail. The moss on the ceiling was now pounding, following the unpredictable rhythm of the jamming session. In was going blue, and purple, and pink and red with some tinges of green. Outside, it was getting darker and darker, the mist itself going black as night. Shadows were growing in the corners of the room, taking odd shapes, while the light from the ceiling was taking more and more a show-like quality, defining the players’ silhouettes. The musicians were heavily concentrated on their playing and noticed none of that. In fact, they did not seem to notice anything outside the little world of the notes they were playing. There was some blood on Brian’s right hand, from a broken nail, Roger definitely had blisters on his fingers, as did John, and Freddie’s wrists would be painful in the morning from the speed and power with which he was pounding at the piano. They did not pay it any mind. They had started playing frenetic medleys of their songs. The shadows were starting to take form.


	4. Chapter 4

The temperature started to drop, John shivered, and missed a note. The dissonant bass sound was loud and noticeable, and got the player out of his trance-like state. He stopped playing a looked up. He took on the lights and the mounting shadows and did not start playing again. Hearing him stop, Brian stopped too, Freddie stopping singing and only absent-mindedly playing some chords on his piano while Roger’s drum got slower.

“Err, guys?” said John, uncertainty in his voice.

That got Roger and Freddie to completely stop playing and look at what was going on. Roger, putting down his sticks, noticed something in the corner of his eyes hurdling toward John. He did not think – and while Freddie, who had also noticed, but was too far away to do much, stood up and screamed: “Deacy, watch out!” – he pushed the younger man out of the way and landed on top of him to protect him from whatever that was. The rhythm section looked after their own, yes sir. Roger fully expected to feel pain next. Seamed like the next logical step, right. But he didn’t.

“Hum, Rog, could you, maybe, get off me?” Asked a voice from under the drummer.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.” said Roger, getting up from his protective position over John.

Looking up, the first thing he noticed was that John’s precision bass was standing unharmed on its support. Then he looked around a bit more, and saw Freddie, half-standing over his piano, and Brian, with his hands open in front of him in the universal sign for “I surrender” or “I won’t harm you”. There was a sixpence on the floor. And in front of the guitarist, blurry behind something that to the avid science-fiction reader Roger was looked a lot like a forcefield, shimmering with whatever had been aimed at John there was well, an alien, he guessed. Not a human being at any rate. The creature was tall and green, lankier than Brian and lacking any kind of hair, eyes bulging on the sides of something that was honestly too narrow to reasonably be called a face. More than anything, it looked like a giant stick-insect. The kind Brian would probably carefully pick up in his garden when it strayed away from the grass, so that it would not be walked on and crushed. That kind. But taller than Brian, wielding a forcefield, and, oh, yeah, holding another one of its kind at arms length, squeezing what looked like his throat. Brian seamed to sort of have the situation under control. Roger helped John get up and they all assembled behind the guitar player who was trying to communicate.

“Hello. Erm, so I’m Brian, this is John, Freddie and Roger. And err, who are you?”

The stick-insect / alien had lowered his counterpart on the floor, glowering at it. The other one was a bit smaller. The taller insect then looked with incomprehension to Brian, and shifting from the high-pitched sounds he had produced so far, spoke:

“ Mój towarzysz jest źle wychowanym dzieckiem, nie mamy złych zamiarów1”

That sounded a lot more like something Roger could sort of identify, but he had absolutely no idea what it meant. And Brian apparently did not either because he looked completely dumbfounded. And Freddie was shaking his head.

“I don’t understand” said Brian.

The creature lowered his long body quizzically, seemingly looking for a solution. Then, having apparently come up with something, he raised a long finger towards Brian’s mouth. It looked like he was asking for permission to put a hand on his lips. Brian put his own hand on his lips and quirked his head to the side. The creature blinked. Brian took the creature’s finger and put it on his lips. He shivered a bit, and the three other band members froze, Freddie getting a hand on his guitarist’s left shoulder. The creature took his finger off.

“It’s alright” reassured Brian “His finger was just cold”

The creature started to talk in a slightly hesitant tone of voice.

“We do not wish you any harm. My companion is a child. He is just a bit too enthusiastic. You make beautiful noise… no, music.”

“Thank you, dear” said Freddie, who would be polite to fans, even if they were insectoid aliens.

“I see that we got you to play too hard.” the creature pointed the signs of exhaustion on all of their faces “You can sleep here this night. Tomorrow, we will get you back home.”

There was something oddly soothing about the creature’s voice and a little later without quite understanding how, Roger noticed that he was in pyjamas he was sure he had not brought in the sofa-bed that had clearly not beed open before, and that he did not remember opening, and that also was apparently now big enough to accommodate the four of them. The aliens must have taken the bunk-beds.

* * *

The next day, the four members of Queen all woke up at Roger’s. Their instruments were on the floor of the living room, and a look outside told them that their van was parked outside their doors. Brian had a band-aid on his right index finger.

1Translation: “My companion is a badly raised child. We do not want to harm you in any way.” And yeah it’s Polish. Why do these particular creature speak Polish, do you ask? Well mostly because I love the language (and wish I could speak it better, I asked a friend for the translation there). And more importantly because why not? Maybe those creatures first arrived in Warsaw, and developed a taste for pierogi on the way. Who knows. :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it, people !   
> Hope you enjoyed, don't hesitate to comment and have a wonderful day.   
> Cheers!


End file.
